Book Carrying
by Spazzcat-Katori
Summary: He fell while carrying his books home through the park. Alfred helped him up.  No pairings, some dark themes. Oneshot.


The air was crisp with the chill of late autumn; winter was peering around the corner at the barren trees and now-closed hot-dog stands on the street corners and gathering itself to leap out at the sprawling city. A sharp wind blew leaves, brown and curled and dry and dead, onto the streets, sidewalks and pathways. They crunched loudly under the feet of the blonde teenager walking through the park.

Matthew walked slowly along one of the leaf-strewn asphalt bike paths, steps awkward with his arms stretched low under a tall stack of books and papers, so many it required his chin to rest atop the stack as a brace. He cautiously adjusted his grip on the bottom-most book, arching one shoulder slightly to adjust the weight of the backpack dangling from it. Violet eyes glanced between the path in front of him and the browned grass and leafless trees, tracing each branch as it reached for the faded sky, drinking in the details as if seeing them for the first time.

Lost in study of the dying world around him, he was unprepared to have his contemplation interrupted rudely by a stray stone, kicked from the rocky gardens into his path by some careless pedestrian before him. Landing awkwardly atop the lump on the ground, his foot went out from under him and Matthew crashed to the ground. Books and papers scattered in every direction for several feet, an impromptu snowfall of paper and ink. Pushing himself up on scraped hands, bitter eyes surveyed the mess.

"Are you alright?" The voice from behind him caught the blonde so off-guard he nearly hit the ground again in his haste to turn and locate the source. Another teenager stood there, sandy-haired, sturdy, bespectacled blue eyes concerned. A broad hand was extended to him. "Here, let me give you a hand."

Mutely, Matthew nodded in gratitude, taking hold of the proffered hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Turning to collect his scattered belongings, he was surprised to find the unfamiliar youth immediately beside him, gathering half the heavy load into his own strong arms. The other blonde grinned at him, a happy, friendly, kind smile that made his own lips quirk in response.

"How about I help you carry all this to wherever you're going? My name's Alfred, by the way."

He hesitated before his name came unbidden from his lips. "Matthew."

They walked then, through the park strewn with dead leaves and sleeping trees under an autumn sky. Walked and talked. What they talked about, Matthew couldn't later say for sure, only that the conversation drew him inwards like the world around him had before he fell except far more engagingly. And it was only as he was watching the worn brown leather of Alfred's jacket recede into the distance that Matthew realized he would be seeing the other boy again tomorrow in that same park.

He met Alfred again. The first time, when the other teen was there, it sent a thrill up his spine that he couldn't explain. And again, the next time, and every other time, when they would meet and talk, and even when they would talk without meeting, by phone and internet and notes in class, because it turned out they went to the same school.

Alfred introduced him to other people. Arthur and Francis and Gilbert and Antonio and Ivan and a host of others. And they too thrilled Matthew.

The circle expanded. After a while, Matthew decided on a name for that little thrill he felt whenever he was connected to his friends, which was all the time now. He decided to call it happiness, and he liked it.

Time passed, seasons changed and changed and changed again, school stopping and starting and stopping again. And now the air was heavy and soft with the heat of summer just settling down over them. Trees were clothed in green and the ground was a rainbow of flowers, bright and technicolour.

The school bell had rung for them for the last time. Matthew lay on the hot asphalt of the bike path in the park, a small stone on the ground by his head. Alfred lay next to him as they both stared up at the vibrant cobalt sky a limitless distance above them. The park was filled with teenagers, now young adults, friends and companions one and all, being free and enjoying life.

They lay quietly for a while, each lost in their thoughts as they enjoyed each other's company.

"...I never thanked you properly, you know." Matthew spoke softly, words moving steadily through the air to the ears of his best friend. "For helping me all those years ago when I fell."

"Hm?" The sandy-haired teen turned his head to look over with puzzled blue eyes. "Oh, no problem, glad I could help." A smile was sent over, one that the golden-blonde was glad to return.

Silence fell once more, content to lay over them like a blanket. Violet eyes closed for a moment, then opened again, staring up into the azure abyss overhead. "Do you know why I was carrying so many books home that day? In the middle of the school week?"

A silent, curious look was sent his way. The silence was pregnant with the seriousness of Matthew's tone a moment before, with the sense that his words, seemingly innocuous, were of great import.

"I was carrying them home...so that my mother wouldn't have to go to the school to clean out my locker after I killed myself that night. I wanted to save her that bit of trouble."

Shock. Dismay. A sharp inhalation carrying those and more.

"But because of you, I didn't. I wanted to play catch with someone once more, because you asked me to play it with you. You didn't just help me up when I fell to the ground and dropped my books, Alfred. You helped me up when I fell."The blonde's voice was soft, but steady, carrying more gratitude towards his friend than could ever be put into mere words. "Thank you, Alfred."

There was silence for a long moment, as the two friends lay there surrounded by the warmth of living things and good friends, under a limitless sky. "You're welcome, Matthew." And his friend's voice was glad.

ooooooooo

Author's notes: I based this story on one I remember hearing at an anti-bullying assembly in high school, about a kid carrying his books home from school so his mother wouldn't have to get them after he killed himself, only to make a friend on the way home and end up not going through with it. It's always been a very powerful story for me, since I had only one close friend for several years of my life.


End file.
